Father Damian and Fucked Up Explode Ears at Churchill's
With Neon Blud and Jacuzzi Boys
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Ms. Lauryn Hill - The MLH Caravan: A Diaspora Calling! Concert Series
TicketsSun., Dec. 11, 8:30pm
Gold Coast Jazz: Jon Faddis Quartet
TicketsWed., Dec. 14, 7:45pm
TicketsThu., Dec. 15, 7:30pm
Trans-Siberian Orchestra Presented by Hallmark Channel
TicketsFri., Dec. 16, 3:30pm
Girl Choir of South Florida: Carol of the Dance
TicketsFri., Dec. 16, 8:00pm
Better than: Bleeding from your eyes.
It's now eight and a half hours since Fucked Up played their last song. But still my hearing is dangerously (permanently?) damaged. Human voices sound like muffled, faraway echoes from inside an empty beer can. Carefully modulated music becomes nonsensical rumble. Half-dead cars creep through the streets, roaring like shitty spaceships.
Really, the only thing I can make out with any kind of crispness is the low, ambient hum of household appliances. Example: I can hear my laptop's thought processes as if they were my own -- hard drive spinning, battery sucking energy, speakers wheezing.
This is the kind of physical destruction (i.e. exploded ears) a true fan pays for the pleasure of getting Fucked Up. There's no middle ground with these Canadian hardcore killers: It's either full immersion or nothing at all. And last night's post-midnight invasion of Churchill's was an all-out attack on the human body. A ten-foot dive into an awesome pit of punishment.
Marta Xochilt Perez
When it started, Father Damian (AKA Pink Eyes, Mr. Damian, Damian Abraham) was still wearing a shirt. There was a crooked baseball cap and jeans, too. But after five minutes of brutal noise ("Two Snakes" and "David Comes to Life"), Damian got hot and sweaty and started to strip. I guess he couldn't help himself. First, he threw away the hat. Next, he ripped off the tee. Last, he wiggled his ass out of the jeans.
Meanwhile, the rest of the band kept their clothes on, except drummer Mr. Jo (AKA Jonah Falco) who did the shirtless thing. Just lurking in the shadows, guitar guy 10,000 Marbles (AKA Mike Haliechuk), his cohorts Concentration Camp (AKA Gulag, Josh Zucker) and Young Governor (AKA Ben Cook), and bass player Mustard Gas (Sandy Miranda) stood still, rubbing out their parts in private. They quietly watched the crowd with straight looks and sometimes smiles.
But Damian was raging. He screamed in front-row faces. He shoved the mike down our throat, asking for a singalong. He paced the stage in search of something unspecified. Then he beat his chest and joined the pit and climbed the bar and let some kid ride him like a baby monkey. Chaos had taken hold.
Marta Xochilt Perez
Ripping from "Crusades" to "Baiting the Public" to "Police," Father Damian and Fucked Up only ratcheted the rage. Maybe it was my ears slowly exploding. But the volume climbed to a perfect, painful place. The guitar lines started to hiss. The bass drum pounded and the cymbals rattled wildly, winding into crescendos of unnatural, all-consuming noise. People opened their mouths to scream and nothing came out.
Off in more remote parts of the place, bodies were starting to pile up. The pit was packed with skinny guys and black-eyed girls running circles, taking heavy hits, and falling underfoot. The casualties were everywhere. Damian roamed off-stage for a closer look. He pulled a few back to a standing position, accidentally wound his microphone cord around a pole, mugged someone for fun, unwound his way back to the stage, and called out for "Bodies" as Marbles, CC, Young Gov, Gassy, and Jo revved into the last minutes of the show.
And here the punishment turned perverse. Kids streaked up, pounding the dust out of Churchill's ancient carpet, trying to pull down Damian's boxers, jumping into the mass of people below, hitting the floor, and then coming back smiling. Repeat, repeat, repeat ... It was unsettling. It was insane. It was awesome.
Marta Xochilt Perez
Seconds later, Fucked Up was done. And outside on the sidewalk, I tried to have a conversation with someone I'd never met. But I couldn't hear a word he said. I could hear his cellphone thinking, though.
Personal Bias: I am a big fan of damaging experiences, so Fucked Up is a state of being I've embraced for years. See "Baiting the Public, Parts 1 and 2."
The Crowd: Punks with face tattoos. Nerds minus their bifocals. Ladies ready to mosh.
Overheard in the Crowd: Guy: "What band is headlining? Someone from Toronto? Huh? They're called Fucked Up? What does that mean?" Girl: "You'll find out." (Laughs)
Fucked Up Set List:
-"David Comes to Life"
-"Black Albino Bones"
-"Circling the Drain"
-"I Hate Summer"
-"Baiting the Public"
-"Here Lies Are"
-"Son the Father"
"Bodies" (Sex Pistols cover)
-"Nervous Breakdown" (Black Flag cover)
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